by Orla Bailey
I lift a stiff arm to swipe cold tears from my face with the back of my hand and try to read the hour on his watch. It’s hard to focus through the wavering water in my eyes. My stomach is a tight knot; my throat closed and raw. I gaze into empty spaces until I end up curled up on the sofa, pulling a blanket over my head to cry a whole heap more, Jack’s timely reminder clasped tightly in the palm of my hand.
What need has he of time when he’s spending all night with her? It’s me who feels every second, every minute and every interminable hour. I fasten it to my wrist, fixing the clasp to push its loose circle right the way up my arm until it finally stays put. The muscular arm that normally wears this, with its smattering of dark hair, should be here to hold me and love me. Instead it’s pouring Champagne for her, undressing her and touching her until she shatters in his embrace.
I howl in wretched misery, wondering why I ever forced him to return or why I stay where I am not wanted. Here I am throwing myself at him yet again, trapped by time into remaining that silly, naïve little girl I once was.
I struggle to my feet. I’ll never be able to stay here. Everything smells of him, conjures up pictures, drives Jack like a painful wedge into the depths of my soul. I can’t stay any longer. No matter what I agreed.
I simply can’t.
I blow my nose, wash my face, swap the stupid silk thong for Elsa, the Snow Queen knickers and pull on jeans and a sweatshirt. I phone for a taxi. I wanted Jack here to make things right between us but he’s not. And nothing can be right if we’re not together.
Finally, I’m going home.
I scribble a quick note for Lenuta for the morning, to tell her not to worry.
It feels like I haven’t stayed in my apartment in Notting Hill for ages but I must get used to the idea of living there again. Alone. I consider asking Libby to sleep over but remember her first date with Blackstock. It wouldn’t be fair and would only remind me more of what I’ve lost.
I lock up and wait outside for the taxi.
Just before home, I realise I have Jack’s watch still attached to my arm. It’s expensive and beautiful. He’ll miss it more than he will miss me. Tomorrow I’ll ask Libby to return it to Blackstock.
By the time the taxi turns into my street I’ve changed my mind three times. Who am I kidding? I’m making the same old mistakes. I promised I wouldn’t run again and the fact is, I’m not nearly ready to separate myself from Jack. Perhaps I needed the pain of his betrayal to finally set me free but I’ll never stop loving Jack no matter what.
I won’t let him do this to me.
The taxi stops outside my building and the driver turns round to face me. “Someone’s looking for you, love.”
“What do you mean?”
“Got a call asking about pick-ups tonight from Chelsea Harbour. I was the only one.”
“Did they give a name?” Not that it matters. There’s only one person it could be. How did he know I’d left so soon? He just wants me to know, he knows, I can’t do anything he asks. Not a damn thing. A deal breaker.
“Didn’t get one, love.”
I pay the driver, step out and let myself inside.
The place feels cold and uninviting, despite the warm night. The thought of returning is desolate. Like giving up. Because there is no getting away from it. Jack holds my heart. It doesn’t matter where I live. Here. There. Without him nothing matters. But I must be strong. I walk around reacquainting myself with all that is familiar yet feels so strange. Everything inside me wants to die. I’m back where I started. Rejected and alone.
I pick up my old pillow. We’ve shared long, lonely, dream-filled nights before and it seems I’m not through with his services yet. Perhaps coming home won’t seem so barren with an old acquaintance to cling to.
Approaching midnight there’s a banging on the door. I peek through the wide angled door viewer and my stomach drops. Outside, Jack paces furiously up and down. His tie is missing and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. The edges of his open jacket flap as he strides, turns and fixes the door with a stony glare, like he knows I’m standing right behind it. He looks exactly like he dressed again in a hurry and I suck up the misery of it.
“I know you’re in there.”
“Go away.”
“Open this door or I’ll come through anyway.”
“You can’t kick this one in, remember?” He had the impenetrable fortress door fitted himself to replace the former one he utterly destroyed.
He mutters under his breath then I see him lift a set of keys from his pocket and dangle them in front of the spyhole. The set he retained. I step back fast as he uses them without hesitation. In the doorway, his huge dark shadow silhouetted by the corridor lights, steals my breath away.
Jack doesn’t break stride as moves past me, grabbing my wrist and hauling me back inside, kicking the door closed behind him. “What the hell are you playing at?”
Pent up with emotion, I anticipate the impending row with sarcasm. “Was your female company less than satisfactory tonight?”
The edifice of temper constructing itself before my eyes grows exponentially. “Answer the damn question.” His fingers tighten on my wrist as I shift the pillow I’m holding in front of me like an airbag – the last thing standing between me and disaster – and clutch it close. Jack snatches it away and casts it aside.
He moves like lightening, caging me between his solid arms, my back against the wall. I’m trapped in a confined space with a man ready to detonate and the seconds are visibly ticking down.
“Three things I asked of you. Three simple things. And you couldn’t observe a single one.”
“How did you know?”
He misunderstands me. “You’re not at Belvedere, you’re not sleeping. Are you telling me you actually ate?” he demands.
When I roll my eyes to pretend I’m neither guilty nor bothered, his expression crystallises.
“I didn’t know they were con…” My defiance withers the instant I see his face. “…ditions.”
“I swear to God…” Jack can be pretty scary at moments like these. He heaves me straight through to the kitchen. “Sit.”
I lower myself onto the counter stool indicated. “I wasn’t hungry.” It’s a feeble defence when I’d promised I’d do anything he asked to earn back his trust. But that was before I knew he was boldly dating Amanda. I scowl at him, pathetically. I expect I look more like a petulant child.
He frowns, searching the scant cupboards, making disparaging comments at boxes of puffed cereal and other ridiculous comestibles he considers useless to his purpose. He pulls his phone from his pocket and places a late order from the same nearby restaurant that supplied me that first weekend he exploded into my life.
Only Jack could make a restaurant that is cleaning up for the night, fire up the burners again.
Neither one of us speaks a word to the other in the thirty minutes it takes for food to arrive. He stares. I avoid. We both stew in our own grievances. Jack removes the lids on the foil containers to start plating up. The smells are mouth-watering and I’m instantly starving.
“Can I get some of those cute little cherry tomat..?”
His eyes fly to mine giving me the sort of look I might expect if I’d had the nerve to demand Beluga caviar but he heaps every single last one of them onto my plate, making me feel guilty. He loads a plate with food for himself too. I wonder at that as he’s supposed to have taken Amanda out to dinner. Were they far too busy doing something more satisfyingly urgent than eat? I try not to think about it.
It’s all I can think about.
All I know is he’s mad he’s had to leave her bed to deal with me.
Well, no-one asked him to.
I’m glad I’ve spoiled their plans for a hot little evening. If he’s with me then he isn’t with her.
Unless she’s followed him here too.
My head flies round as I listen for sounds. Perhaps Ms twenty-four seven is waiting in a cab outside for him to
finish berating me before he returns to take up where he left off. He’ll have to chain me to a chair, if that’s the way it is.
“What are you looking for?”
“Nothing.”
He sees right through my lie. “We’re alone.”
I betray my relief with an audible sigh which seems to irritate him even further.
“There’s no-one to hear you or help you.”
“Do I need help?” I squeak, nearly swallowing a cherry tomato whole. My stomach flips. That was essentially a threat yet all I can think about is him pulling me hard against his body and taking my jealous agony away.
Sex with Jack was a three times a day extravaganza, minimum. We haven’t been together since boat sex on Saturday and it isn’t fair to give a girl expectations like that, then disrupt normal services. No wonder I’m grouchy.
Jack heaps more food onto my plate. He tears off bread and tosses some down in front of me.
Shame I have a mouth like a dried up river bed. “Nice table manners.”
“Eat it.”
“Whatever you say, sir.” I shove the entire wodge of bread into my mouth, literally biting off more than I can chew. He watches me try. Every look we cast each other’s way sparks with fury and I find myself wondering if Jack’s bad mood might stem from his sexual frustration too. I bloody well hope he’s suffering withdrawal symptoms.
Watching me struggle to eat the bread, appears to cool him down. “It might go down the hatch without choking you, if you had a drink. Water or apple juice?”
“White Russian,” I goad him.
He ignores me, pouring cloudy apple juice from the glass bottle. I sip to swallow down the last of the bread while he shovels meat and potatoes into his own mouth. For one horrible moment I wonder if he reconfigured tonight’s order of service. I study his state of undress. Has he worked up a huge appetite with Amanda already so it’s dinner he’s missing, instead of that other thing? Is that the reason he’s so pissed?
Yet he’s way too frustrated for simply a missed meal. It’s dessert I’ve made him miss out on: Amanda soufflé with cherries on top.
“You should stick to your plans. I’m fine.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“You didn’t need to come here,” I insist, pretending to both of us, I don’t care.
“Didn’t I?”
“Why don’t you return to your dinner date of preference?” I’ve just spent all night willing the opposite but my emotions are rattled to the core. “Won’t she wonder where you are?”
“And what sort of mess would that have left me to sort out, by morning?” His revelation that he fully intended to spend the night with Amanda, until I messed up, burns my pride.
“I’m not your mess.”
He raises one eyebrow annoyingly.
“Well, I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.” I sound anything but.
“You always are – sorry – until the next time.”
“That’s not fair.” It might be.
“Which part of stay home, eat and go to bed, was so unclear?”
“I am home.”
“Belvedere.”
“Unlike you, I’m confused as to whose bed I’m supposed to be sleeping in.” I’m spoiling for a fight.
“It’s only you that seems to have trouble deciding that.”
Pot. Kettle. Black. “Whilst you prefer to keep your sleeping options open.”
“That makes two of us!”
We glare at each other in bloody-minded silence.
Jack eventually draws a calming breath in order to regain control of his temper and scrubs a hand over his jaw. Suddenly he’s the voice of reason. “We agreed the guest room would be yours if I stayed at Belvedere,” he reminds me.
“But you weren’t at Belvedere,” I counter. “If you break the deal why shouldn’t I?”
“Didn’t you want to prove to me that I can trust you?” He checkmates me.
I push my plate away, full, and glug down the rest of my juice. Much as I hate to admit it, I feel better for having eaten something. Although, my internal devil’s advocate suggests it’s more likely to do with Jack being here, even if we are fighting.
“I followed the spirit if not the particulars.”
“In a deal, only the particulars count. Are you running away again?”
“No.” It was a permanent move this time.
“Then why did you leave the apartment?”
“I wanted… something.”
To my surprise he reaches his hand out and covers mine. He hasn’t touched me gently since this whole sorry pile blew up in our faces. I look at his hand on mine then my eyes move to his.
“What is it?” he prompts.
I shrug but turn my hand over to lace my fingers through his. He lets me.
“You did this because you wanted me to come for you,” Jack tells me.
I snatch my hand back. “I thought you’d be turning back the sheets for Amanda, by now.” I sound like an arrogant arse.
“So you made damn certain you’d stop me.”
“Are you suggesting I engineered this? I didn’t know you’d come here. You traced my taxi? Who does that?” My pitch elevates with every point.
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice you’d gone?” The question sounds horribly familiar.
“How did you?”
“I’ll always know where you are.”
“You’re spying on me.” My brain can’t process the notion fast enough.
“You have to realise what you’re doing.”
“We’ve been through all this.” I get up from the stool. If he thinks I’m going to sit and listen to a lecture after what he’s done, he can jog on.
“Not to my satisfaction.” He stands as I back away.
“Isn’t satisfaction what you planned on getting from her? Or perhaps she doesn’t put out like I do.”
“Watch what you’re saying.” He steps forward.
I step back. “Why should I? You don’t watch what you’re saying.”
He lunges at me but I dart round the central island. Every time he takes a step to the right, I make a counter move. I keep exactly the same distance between us every time. He can see it’s not working so he stands still, removes his jacket and places it on the stool beside him. He clears the plates out of his way. I watch in horrified fascination as he takes off his cufflinks, places them on the counter surface, one at a time, and starts rolling back his sleeves.
I sweep the pair of unknown cuff-links to the floor. She might have given them to him. “Do you collect a pair from every woman you shag? A hunter’s trophy? God, you must have drawers full of the things.”
“Pick them up.” He continues rolling up his sleeves. His voice is low and authoritative. It’s a voice I’ve seen grown men jump to obey. But I’ve already gone too far. If I oblige he’s got me. All ways.
“Pick them up yourself.” My heart batters against my chest and I feel a throb of excitement building. I can’t help myself. Masterful Jack has me burning with instant lust. “Better still, call Amanda to pick them up for you. She gives you her undivided twenty-four seven service, doesn’t she?” I haven’t forgiven him the hurt he’s caused over that either.
To my annoyance he smirks. “Jealous?”
I snort with derision. It’s a complete act. I’m fired with the green-eyed monster. “If perfect fake is your thing, then what are you doing here? Hurry. I’m sure you can catch her next desperate performance.”
“I’m here because I can’t trust you to do as I tell you. I’m here to show you there are consequences.” He’s gone totally Boss on me.
Suddenly I realise I might not get out of this one, dignity intact. His sleeves are secured just above his elbows and I gulp when I see him flex the powerful muscles of his forearms as if he’s both warming up and reminding his opponent of his vastly superior strength. Psychological war games.
I’m nervous of what he might do but in a weirdly excited sort of way. My nipples tig
hten and I feel the buzz way down low. I want sex with Jack in spite of everything. Even revenge sex. I don’t think I’ll ever not want sex with Jack. Would he skip the preliminaries and go straight to the main event if I teased him nicely?
But perhaps he doesn’t want me anymore, now he has Amanda.
Despite the fact he hasn’t attempted another move towards me, I’m not fooled. I pull up one of my own sleeves. The look of surprise on Jack’s face as I do makes me laugh. Does he think I’m mocking him? I don’t dare. But I do reveal the Patek Philippe. His eyes travel from the wristwatch back to my face and he holds out his hand without a word.
Slowly I unclasp it, never taking my eyes off him for a second. A second is all it would take for him to overpower me. I look at the open palm waiting for its property but shake my head instead. Slowly I move to place it on the island counter. As his hand slides towards his jacket I jump, snatching the watch back.
His predatory smile mocks my nervous reflexes. “The watch. Now.”
Painstakingly I set it on the counter between us.
Like a viper striking, his hand flashes out and grabs my wrist. I try to pull away but it’s too late. His hold on me is absolute. I’m going nowhere. I look up at him and appreciate for the first time a level of sexual tension that matches my own.
Without removing his hand from mine he turns my arm slowly over and slips the noose turned in his tie, off his wrist and over mine, tightening it. He must have retrieved the object from his jacket pocket while I was distracted. He wraps the free ends around his hand several times until he has a firm grasp of me and I can’t escape. Like combatants in a Puerto Rican knife fight, without blades. My breath hitches. The only thing saving me from him is the kitchen counter between us.
“You’re too bad tempered to lay hands on me,” I appeal, in the hope of making him see reason.
“I’ve calmed down considerably.”
“You don’t seem calm to me.”
“I’m in complete control.”
“I don’t think that’s the same thing.”
His half-smile is pure evil.
He tugs gently but irresistibly on my arm until it’s fully extended across the counter. I stare at the fragile feminine angle my elbow makes. And the considerable difference in thickness between his wrist and mine.